


sick.

by shariling



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Cancer, I hate myself, M/M, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 14:44:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1514270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shariling/pseuds/shariling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Enjolras has a brain tumor</i>, the doctor said.</p><p><i>Enjolras is going to die</i>, is what Grantaire heard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sick.

**Author's Note:**

> prompt was enjolras&grantaire, angst
> 
> come say hi on [tumblr](http://enjolrased.tumblr.com/).

When the news first hits, it's like a train hitting Grantaire at full speed. No preamble, no warning. There aren't any flashing lights or loud, clanging bells ringing in his ear. No dropping signs to warn him of the danger.

The only confirmation is Enjolras' hand gripping his tighter, eyebrows set in a furrowed line.

 _Enjolras has a brain tumor_ , the doctor said.

 _Enjolras is going to die_ , is what Grantaire heard.

-

He tries to make things seem normal, honestly - any and every chance he gets, Grantaire is at Enjolras' hospital bed, going on and on about the daily trials he faces - the crudeness of his art teacher, the advancements in a commission he's gotten, the gossip that flutters between the group members.

Enjolras stays silent, usually, staring outside his window like he'd give anything to go out and lay in the grass, smell the fresh air, have food that isn't hospital made.

"Grantaire," he says.

"Mm?" Grantaire tilts his head, scurrying dutifully to his boyfriend's side. He places a gentle hand atop Enjolras', the other tangling in with his blond locks. "What is it?"

"We have to talk about it."

Grantaire sucks in a breath. He's very much a fan of ignoring the problem until it goes away - but this _going away_ isn't something he's very interested in thinking about. He drags his thumb over Enjolras' knuckles, bringing his hand up to kiss it gently. His Apollo, connected with needles and monitors, clicking to the beat of his heart just to prove he's still alive - Grantaire thinks they sound like a countdown, and he hates them. He'd rip them out if he wouldn't get in trouble.

"Later," he says, not finding it within himself to meet Enjolras' eyes.

"No, now," Enjolras insists. Grantaire sighs, shaking his head.

"I can't, Enjolras," he mutters, keeping his Apollo's hand cradled gently against his stubbly cheek. "I really can't. Let's not do this now."

"You're going to keep pushing it off. Let's just get it out of the way, okay?" Enjolras rasps his fingers lightly on Grantaire's cheek, smiling sympathetically. "I love you."

"Don't say that."

"I have to. You have to know -- "

" _Don't_ , Enjolras. Please, I'm begging you."

"R..." There's a beautiful pout he manages, and Grantaire is so _furious_ that the good die young, he can hardly contain himself from bursting into tears. "Please? Just let me speak for a second?"

Grantaire does nothing but nuzzle Enjolras' hand, the act of a desperate man, which Enjolras takes as affirmation.

"I love you, I do. I'm being honest. I know you don't always believe it when I say it, but..." he frowns, eyes watery in a pretty way, but the tell-tale signs of frustration litter his beautiful features. "You just have to believe me, okay? You have to. I love you and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it."

"I wouldn't do anything," Grantaire practically whimpers. "If you love me, then there's nothing I'd ever want to do to change that."

"Grantaire..."

"I love you, E. Let's just leave it at that, okay? No goodbyes, not today."

-

All the different members make their way to Enjolras eventually - some take longer than others, but everyone shows up, all ignoring the obvious elephant in the room. Enjolras' cancer must be a taboo, it must hurt them all so _badly_ they can't even bother with affirmation.

They all pretend like nothing's different. They pretend like nothing's going to change.

Courfeyrac and Combeferre stop by together frequently - usually to continue involving Enjolras in some of their riot or rally plans, but Enjolras can tell they're strained without his presence. He tries to ignore it, as they do, tries to listen and be understanding for whatever is easiest on his friends. 

When Combeferre shows up on his own one day, Enjolras knows there's trouble.

"Hello," he greets. Enjolras nods in a hello of his own. Combeferre shifts awkwardly before sitting beside the bed, hands reaching out to grab one of Enjolras' softly. "We have something to discuss."

"What is it, then? Go on."

"It's - " Combeferre sighs, rubbing his temples with his free hand. "It's legal issues. Ones you'll have to face in the following months..."

 _Months_ , when Enjolras is presumed to die.

"Yes?"

"We have to establish a will. And we -- " Combeferre chokes up and cuts off his line of thinking, hands covering his eyes.

Enjolras has _never_ seen him cry before, and it's disturbing.

Without a thought, Enjolras brings up both his hands to Combeferre's cheeks, shooing his hand away so he can stroke them with the utmost care. His expression screams concern, he knows this, but he can't help trying to comfort Combeferre, though he has no idea how. He picks off Combeferre's glasses, tugging him gently forward until he rests his head on Enjolras' thigh.

"I-I apologize. It's just -- " Combeferre breathes, hard. He hardly makes a noise while he cries. "I can't imagine you not being around. _God_ , I know I shouldn't make you think about it, I'm sorry, but - we've _always_ been together. You're my best friend, Enjolras. I'm not sure I'll know what to do without you."

"You're just - you're going to keep going on the same way," Enjolras manages out, stroking short, sandy hair lightly. Combeferre makes a whimpering sound. "Because it's what I want you to do. Okay? I know it's going to be hard, trust me I _know_ , but it'll get better with time. You can think about the good times, okay?"

Not exactly a reassuring speech, but Enjolras has never been good in that aspect - either way, Combeferre regains himself quickly, sitting up and wiping the tears from his cheeks. Enjolras still tangles his fingers in his hair affectionately.

"The other thing," Combeferre says after a moment, closing his eyes. "Is you and Grantaire aren't married."

-

Grantaire always comes in bustling and loud, carrying a sketchbook with things he's drawn that might make Enjolras happy - today he's got a pretty flower in a small flower pot he thought might brighten the room a bit. He knows Enjolras misses the outside, so why not bring the outside to him?

But, Enjolras puts his hand up, stopping Grantaire. He is quick to Enjolras' side, taking a seat after being gestured to.

"I wanted to talk to you."

"Am I going to like this talk?"

"I honestly hope so."

Enjolras takes a deep breath - he can feel how nervous Grantaire is, and can't really blame him. He's feeling similarly, like a fire is lit in the pit of his stomach, boiling up his insides. Enjolras breaths for a second before looking at Grantaire with such intensity, the wind is almost blown out of him.

"I love you," Enjolras says, tilting his head. "Okay?"

"Yeah," Grantaire rolls his eyes, thinking this is going to be the same conversation they always have, but his heart still beat wickedly whenever Enjolras says those three words. "Yeah, you've made it abundantly clear."

"But do you believe me?"

"What? Yeah - I mean, yeah, I guess so. What are you going on about, E?"

Enjolras shakes his head a bit, blonde locks cascading down his shoulders. Even in a hospital gown, he's still Apollo of the ages.

"I love you," he starts again, smiling warmly. "And I know you hate when I'm blunt like this, but it's important, okay? I love you, and I'm dying."

Grantaire inhales sharply, stiff as a rock. He opens his mouth to protest, but Enjolras presses a finger to his mouth to muffle him.

"Let me finish. I'm _dying_ , R. That isn't going to change. I'm not going to be here for very long." He sees tears well up in Grantaire's eyes and he feels _awful_ , but it needs to be said. Enjolras' hand strokes tenderly at his cheek, brushing away the tears the slip out. "But for as long as I'm here... I want to spend that time with you, okay? People say ' _I want to spend the rest of my life with you_ ', but that doesn't have as much flair here."

Grantaire jumps a little at that, eyes widening impossibly.

"Are you _propo--_?! "

"Trying to. It's probably really unfair of me, and I'm sorry, you can say no if you want. I don't even have a ring - I just know that for as long as I'm living, I want it to be with you at my side. Is that okay?"

"Is that _okay_ , he asks," Grantaire repeats, eyes wide and hurt-looking, before he shakes his head rapidly. Enjolras feels himself frown. "You're just - you're doing this because you're - you're _dying_ Enjolras. That sucks. That's so fucked up."

"No," Enjolras insists sternly. "I'm doing this because I love you. And when I'm gone, I want you to be able to look at your hand and know that I'm still yours."

Grantaire bites his lip, looking down at Enjolras' marble arm. His flesh is whiter, sickly looking, and the sights pains Grantaire, but no more than looking at his face would hurt.

"I know it's... it's _cruel_ to ask you to marry a sick man," Enjolras manages out, and for the first time _ever_ , R sees his eyes water up with tears. "It's okay if you don't want to, like I said. I shouldn't have asked, honest -- "

"No," Grantaire interrupts. "No, no. Enjolras, _fuck_ , you know I'll marry you. There's no one else, there's never been anyone else other than you. You just have to ask me for the right reasons, okay? Not because you're dying."

"Not because I'm dying," Enjolras agrees. "Because I love you."

Grantaire grins but it only half meets his eyes - he kisses Enjolras' hand and up his arm, his neck and his cheeks.

"Then I'm happy to be your husband, okay? Until the day _I_ die."

They kiss, then, tears smearing this mouths with twinges of saltiness.

-

No one gets dressed up for the wedding day. It's only a few days after the proposal - they bring a priest in to Enjolras' room to make it all official, all their friends in attendance, even though it makes the small room even smaller.

Grantaire is the only on who stands next to Enjolras, gripping his hand tightly, and Enjolras can tell he's fighting off tears. They hold, and murmur oaths to each other in between the priest's words, sharing glances with all their friends who look --

Happy. Happy with sympathy.

"I do."

"I do."

There's hundreds of pictures taken, Enjolras smiling brightly and happily with his husband perched at his side, toying gently with the silky locks of Enjolras' golden hair. They kiss and share kisses with their friends - who offer congratulations, even if it seems far away.

Safe to say, not every tear shed in that room was a happy one. But they weren't all sad, either.

-

The day after the wedding, Enjolras asks Grantaire to help shave his head.

For the first time throughout this whole ordeal, Enjolras sobs. Grantaire cradles his bare, shiny head into his chest and holds him, pressing kisses down against the top of his head, whispering sweet words of love and care that go widely unheard. Enjolras cries and cries, sniffling loudly and crying louder, until he's sure the whole hospital can hear them.

"You always loved my hair, didn't you?"

-

"Will you let me say goodbye today?" Enjolras asks, stopping Grantaire from where is was reading the _Rights of Man_ out loud - mainly as a joke, but he knew Enjolras appreciated it. The strain of reading had become too great on Enjolras, and though he'd never _admit_ to wanting help, Grantaire can read him as easily as the book in his lap. He frowns and shuts the brick, though, knitting his eyebrows and shaking his head.

"No, not today."

"When, then?"

"I don't know, Enjolras. Not today."

"But _when_?"

" _Fuck_ , you think I know?" Grantaire leans back in his chair, rubbing his hands over his face. "When am I gonna be cool to say _goodbye_ to you? I don't know Enjolras, how about fucking _never_? That work for you?"

The words rest between them for awhile, Grantaire panting from a built up fury that he hadn't let go until now - and Enjolras waiting for him, a little taken aback, but just as emotional, eyebrows knitted while he watches his boyfriend.

The silence stretches, and guilt sinks in - Grantaire sighs, rubbing his eyes briefly.

"Sorry - sorry, sorry Apollo," he murmurs it into his palms, reaching his hands forward after a second to catch Enjolras' hands. He smiles warmly, leaning in to kiss his forehead. "I love you, okay? It's just really hard. Statues aren't supposed to get sick, you know."

Enjolras laughs, humorlessly, turning his head to catch Grantaire's lips with a brief kiss. He nuzzles his nose, affectionately, and Grantaire feels happiness seep back into his veins - proceeding to cover Enjolras' faces with thousands of desperate kisses, while the god himself just smiles, laughing an easy, fluid thing.

"Tomorrow?" Enjolras asks, poking his nose to Grantaire's cheek. "Please? It's important."

"Tomorrow," Grantaire agrees, licking Enjolras' nose and making the smaller man squirm.

-

Enjolras dies at six in the morning on the next day, when Grantaire is off at school. He's gotten better at turning his phone off while in class - a habit Enjolras has insisted on - so when he sees his phone has blown up with a thousand messages, he pretty much automatically knows what's happened.

Enjolras died.

Enjolras is dead.

Enjolras is dead, and he didn't get to say goodbye.

Enjolras is dead, and he wasn't there with him.

Enjolras is dead.

And Grantaire is alone.


End file.
